


Coda: Incandescent

by TenkeyLess



Series: Coda: [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Lahabrea, Consentacles, Emet-Selch is an instigator, Garleans can have heats too, Hints at Feelings, Implied Elezen experience heats, Light Bondage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Sex, Vessel possession, epilogue roughly 50yr before ARR, headcanons galore, rough 1k years before 3.0 events, taking care of Lahabrea in his own way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenkeyLess/pseuds/TenkeyLess
Summary: "Really, thatyouof all of us would be ignorant of your vessel's traits. I am genuinely surprised you've let it go so long.""Emet-Selch--" Bristling at the man's mockery, Lahabrea shifts in his chair to face his peer. "What are you not saying."Irritation gouges holes in the Speaker's composure, stoic resistance discarded in favor of an open frown. At the threshold Emet-Selch lingers, surveying him from head to toe with a smirk."Why, I refer to your vessel's mating cycle, dear Speaker. You fairly reek of repressed arousal."Blinking owlishly, Lahabrea stares at his cohort."Mating cycle?"When Lahabrea's vessel has needs that will not be denied, the Speaker finds himself caught up in its conflagration, overwhelmed by the mortal body's demands. Emet-Selchkindlyoffers assistance.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Lahabrea
Series: Coda: [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599124
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37
Collections: Heat Wave





	Coda: Incandescent

"Come now dear Speaker, surely you are not unaware of the peculiarities to your chosen vessel?"

Lahabrea adamantly ignores the clawed fingers trailing up his spine, a cursed heat in their wake. Beneath his hand the quill nib scratches an unwavering path, his impeccable penmanship filling page after page uninterrupted by the idle tracery. With a huff from behind, the teasing ceases, and the Speaker sighs in relief. His thoughts have proven difficult to marshal of late, every shift of stone or passerby's perfume detracting from his habitually sharp focus. The last thing he needs is Emet-Selch's dramatics delaying him.

His relief proves to be short-lived. Firm thumbs sink into his back, targeting knots that Lahabrea has spent bells accruing. Rigid digits dig in, persuading the tense muscles to loose their burden. Lahabrea bites back a groan, leaning back to chase those devilish fingers. An amused hum rumbles from behind. Seduced by the sheer bliss of Emet-Selch's touch, the Speaker's focus dims, his present consumed in sensation. The steady scratch of his quill slows to a halt, and in the silence he catches himself, suddenly shying away.

"Why are you here, Emet-Selch. I require neither your aid nor your distractions."

"So cold!"  _ Finally _ those accursed hands withdraw, splaying over his compeer's chest in distraught affectation. Lahabrea hunches further at Emet-Selch's overwrought tone, bracing himself. "And here I was, ready to lend myself in succor. But I see you are determined to suffer needlessly."

The warmth of the soul behind him withdraws, his peer's footsteps clicking across stone.

"Really, that  _ you _ of all of us would be ignorant of your vessel's traits. I am genuinely surprised you've let it go so long."

"Emet-Selch--" Bristling at the man's mockery, Lahabrea shifts in his chair to face his peer. "What are you not saying."

Irritation gouges holes in the Speaker's composure, stoic resistance discarded in favor of an open frown. At the threshold Emet-Selch lingers, surveying him from head to toe with a smirk.

"Why, I refer to your vessel's mating cycle, dear Speaker. You fairly reek of repressed arousal."

Blinking owlishly, Lahabrea stares at his cohort.

"Mating cycle?"

Emet-Selch's smirk grows to heretofore unknown proportions.

"Take a deep breath Lahabrea. Tell me, what do you smell."

The Speaker closes his eyes, contrary nature warring with the insatiable need to  _ know _ . After a moment's hesitation, his hunger for knowledge wins out. He inhales.

The room paints itself in his mind's eye, quaint lodgings for a man of his significance. A rickety writing desk abuts the room's large window, all the better to bask in Coerthan sun. A well-stuffed bookshelf covers the opposite wall, a veritable tapestry of tales to brighten the room's monotonous stone. And next to the desk, the room's sole indulgence-a canopied four poster bed. Its coverings are rumpled and dusty from disuse, but the impressive furniture still dominates half the room's floorspace.

The scent of ink hits Lahabrea's nose first, the stacks of paper he's prepared closest by. Familiar, uninteresting, and summarily dismissed. Next, the steady pinewood of his desk and chair, fragrant from its time in the morning sun. Soothing, unremarkable, discarded in favor of finding what Emet-Selch alludes to. From just over his shoulders, however, the embrace of an unknown aromatic yet lingers.

He tips his head to chase the alluring scent, filling borrowed lungs to the brim. Apples, clean and crisp, dance across his palate, seasoned with the cinnamon of an old and unmistakable soul. The autumnal musk  _ burns _ , searing his lungs and igniting a fire in his blood. His reason crisps to ash in an instant, taking breath after breath of the intoxicating fragrance.

_ It is not enough. _

Lahabrea stumbles from his chair, seeking the source of that damnable aroma. Hungry eyes flicker open to survey his prey, the man lounging against the open door studying him back with equal fervor.

"You see? Your vessel is more than ready to claim a bedmate when given an opportunity."

Lahabrea freezes mid-step, suddenly halfway across the room. Hands unknowingly outstretched and curled into claws slowly relax, returning to his side, Emet-Selch's commentary reducing the inferno roasting his wits to manageable embers.

"This is absurd. My vessel is Hyuran, such are not subject to the intensity of a cycle--"

"Ah ah ah, your present vessel is not  _ wholly _ Hyuran, now is it dear Speaker."

"..."

Pockmarked memories rise to the forefront of Lahabrea's mind, shreds of the soul that once held this form. A flawed heritage, burned and buried. Hesitantly he feels at the smooth curve of his Hyuran ear, half-expecting an Elezen's point, and swallows heavily as he realizes his mistake.

"...You sound well-versed in this irksome matter, Emet-Selch. What, particularly, will be needed to absolve this state. I cannot afford to discard my vessel at this juncture-the new King Thordan is expecting his drafts for heretical judgements later this moon."

Pushing himself off the door with a smirk, Emet-Selch strides to meet the Speaker in the middle of the room.

"Haven't you been listening, dear Speaker? What poor form for an esteemed elocutionist such as yourself."

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, clawed fingers playing with a strand of aurum hair. Lahabrea shivers at the casual contact, embers of arousal threatening to reignite. Gritting his teeth, he stares at Emet-Selch in a bid to ignore his vessel's inconvenient demands. A poor choice of distraction. His fellow Paragon leans in until their noses nearly brush, breath tinged with the promise of fall fanning across his face.

"You would make a good start by kissing me, Lahabrea."

Speechless, the Speaker stares at the painted lips of his peer. This close, there's no escaping the scent of autumn on every breath-its bountiful depth tempting him to whet his lips. To close the gap between them, and taste of its source for himself.

Emet-Selch hums approvingly as Lahabrea tips forward, seeking that offered absolution. Cautious investigation swiftly cedes its measured pace to wanton hunger. Lahabrea feasts, filling his senses with the flavor of apples and ash, his mouth pressed to Emet-Selch's until his lungs burn for relief. Heat drums through him with every heartbeat, licking away at his reason until it smoulders in tatters. His hands encircle Emet-Selch, crossing his cohort's broad back, grabbing fistfuls of his robes to secure him.

<< _ So _ demanding, my dear Speaker.>>

Tendrils of aether slide along the shell Lahabrea inhabits, delivering his peer's thoughts directly. The shock of it, of a whole and complete and  _ vivid _ soul brushing against him stuns Lahabrea out of the haze of arousal. A sob rises, sticking in his throat, aethertouch too precious for words. His hands convulse, clutching Emet-Selch tight and spurring an amused snort from his would-be paramour. 

A deep breath settles him, and Lahabrea shivers mentally at the ease with which his vessel's heat overtook him. That wretched warmth, that carnal insistence yet flickers beneath the veneer of reason. 

“Emet-Selch," The Speaker grinds out, clinging to what shreds of singed wits remain. "Are you certain you wish to offer yourself? I am…having difficulty, and cannot guarantee--"

"Shhh." Emet-Selch presses a thumb to Lahabrea's lips, silencing the Speaker. "Must you doubt my every overture? I said what I meant and I meant what I said.  _ Trust me _ , and I will see you it that you and your vessel are sated."

Lahabrea wavers, the warmth of Emet-Selch's thumb apparent even through the thick glove he wears. A lewd impulse flickers across his mind, and with a yielding sigh he succumbs - opening his mouth to welcome the clawed digit inside. Emet-Selch's eyes widen at the Speaker's boldness, tonguing at the thumb in long, lewd strokes. An ache, an urge, a need to have  _ more _ rumbles through Lahabrea.

"Haa-ah," Emet-Selch exhales shakily. "You've found your answer then?"

<<Shut up and kiss me.>>

<<!>>

Surprise gives way to a sultry gaze, Emet-Selch's eyes half-lidded, their golden core glittering neath his lashes. 

<<With pleasure.>>

Emet-Selch withdraws his thumb, careful of its pointed tip, and crushes his mouth to Lahabrea's. The teasing amusement from before is set aside in favor of unbridled passion. Roaming hands tug at each other's coverings, discarding cloth into careless heaps. Emet-Selch presses forward, maneuvering the shorter Hyur until his legs bump the bed. With a grunt, Lahabrea goes down, his back bouncing on the plush bedspread. In an instant Emet-Selch follows, looming over him with an indecent grin. 

Embracing the whims of his body, Lahabrea surges up to catch Emet-Selch in another lung-burning kiss. His cohort stiffens in surprise, swiftly melting into the contact and taking advantage to press Lahabrea into the mattress. Ungloved hands catch at the Speaker's wrists, pinning them above his head. Lahabrea can't help the moan crawling from his throat, deep and rich and  _ needy _ .

Heat sparks at every point they touch-the bend of Emet-Selch's knee as it prises Lahabrea's apart, the firm grasp of his peer's hand restraining his wrists, those damnably persuasive lips coaxing sound after starveling sound from his own. Squirming with want, he scrapes his aether over Emet-Selch, wordless but never mute. Molten need roils in his skin, through his aether, into the very air-crisping the fringes of the sheets to blackened cloth. His paramour's tut-tutting is lost to desire's inferno blazing in his core. 

Violet aether dipped in gold seeps from the form above him, soaking the sheets below and molding them in those indefinable ways Lahabrea's waking mind would recognize as Creation. The subtleties of the changes are lost on him, until his back suddenly sinks into deep, softened covers. Emet-Selch seizes the Speaker's moment of surprise to bury his teeth in Lahabrea's nape, savoring his guttural cry while hefting his peer's hips onto his lap. There Lahabrea feels the stern line of his cohort's arousal, stiff and hot against his inner thigh. 

A slick finger comes to probe at his rear, circling the tight ring of muscle before pushing within. Lahabrea groans at the intrusion, the sensation of  _ foreign inside  _ overwhelming him. Knuckle by knuckle it sinks in, curling to make him buck and whine. Chuckling above him, Emet-Selch carefully adds another finger, working him open ilm by delighted ilm. By the time a third finger finds its way within, Lahabrea trembles violently from head to toe-his cock dripping and hard as it lays on his abdomen. 

"Now," Emet-Selch grunts, "I will  _ try _ to ease my passage, but I must insist you keep your hands to yourself. So if you do not mind..." 

Thick coils of aether rise from their combined shadows, slithering to encircle Lahabrea's wrists. He tugs instinctively against the cool firmness, straining with his vessel's meager strength, and finds them unyielding. Another pair slide along his raised legs, tyrian vines flexing to bear his weight with ease. Leaving the Speaker's arrangement to his aetherial limbs, Emet-Selch settles him above his cock. Lahabrea arches as it nudges at his well-slicked rear, the heat burning beneath his skin demanding in no uncertain terms that he take  _ all _ that his cohort will grant him. Avarice for every ilm, every drop of sweat and more, roils through him with an intensity he's not felt in eons.

With great care, Emet-Selch grasps the Speaker's squirming hips and presses inside. Short thrusts with time spent between to nip at his raised legs, at the tender skin beneath his knees placed at the crux of Emet-Selch's shoulder, see his cohort bottoming out in ample comfort.

"Ahhh--" 

A hissed inhale. 

"So  _ hot _ , Zodiark preserve--" 

The tendrils restraining Lahabrea shiver. Blissfully full, the Speaker gurgles approval, limp in his cohort's hold. 

"Are you certain you're not part bombard, Lahabrea?"

Gentle, rocking thrusts ease the Speaker open, until Emet-Selch fills him on every stroke. Gasps and groans serenade the man above him, Lahabrea's enthusiasm making up for his loss of coherency. Pleasure lances through the Speaker in time with Emet-Selch's rolling hips, Lahabrea's legs curling into blissful arcs over his paramour's shoulders. 

"Ah, it would be remiss of me to neglect this--" 

Sinuous tendrils glide over the bunched muscle of Lahabrea's abdomen, lacing ribbon-like around his cock. With a lowly groan Lahabrea flings his head back, eyes tightly shut, as they pump his length-once, twice, testing his limits and his ever so vocal responses. The Speaker nearly comes then and there, shuddering, the handful of shadows caressing his cock more than he can bear. 

Whisper-fine threads of control keep him riding the keen edge of release, while his unstable aether declares to all the chaos within. For the moment he is merely a man, guileless, subject to Emet-Selch's uncertain mercy. The air begins to crackle, stirred by churning heat. A breathless laugh above him is all the warning he receives, before cold sweeps over him in wintery embrace. 

"You're going to cook your vessel at this rate, dear Speaker. Permit me to assist." 

Spilling forth, darkness thick enough to choke on surrounds the pair. The room ceases to exist beyond the the four posts of the bed, wooden pillars marking the bounds of their shadowy cage. Yet the heat testing the limits of his vessel continues to build, feverish in intensity, as Emet-Selch continues his measured pace. 

Desperate for relief, while the aether soaked air and massaging tendrils do their utmost to contain him, Lahabrea reaches out-reduced to his most fundamental communication. The molten edges of his soul plunge into Emet-Selch, searing a path to his fellow's core. There, at the center of two ancients entwined, he finds his cohort's unvarnished _ lonely desperate admiration  _ that ignites his climax. 

Muscles snapping taut, Lahabrea howls, back bowing off the mattress. Incandescent in intensity, bliss courses through him, levin dancing in his veins. Belatedly he notes his vessel's stomach coated in release. Above him Emet-Selch shudders, groaning words lost to the ringing Speaker's ears. The tendrils binding Lahabrea's limbs twitch-their tips curling and unfurling in chaotic synchronicity as their conductor chases his own satisfaction. With a groan, Emet-Selch's hips stutter and sink deep, cock pulsing his release. 

For a long moment neither retreats, each unwilling to extricate themselves. Their aether yet entwined, Lahabrea smoulders by the core of Emet-Selch. The ember of his existence warms itself in the pocket of his cohort's soul, but eventually the ties he's forged to his vessel draw him back to mundane sensibility.

Reluctantly, the tendrils binding Lahabrea's form relinquish their grasp. Mind busy contending with his burning lungs, his racing heart, the Speaker barely notices where the aetherial limbs have left stinging reminders of their company. His vessel trembles with the force of its passion, his bones doing their best impression of a Flan's pudding-like structure. And, finally, the heat crisping his wits is banked. He feels  _ full _ , and not just with the softening cock slipping from his rear. No, for his soul swells with the unexpected echo it found and feasted upon within his peer. 

Blearily he turns his gaze to Emet-Selch, still propped above him. A faint flicker of interest stirs in his gut under the weight of Emet-Selch's quirked eyebrow. 

"Better, though your vessel is still rather, shall we say,  _ aromatic _ ." 

Mischief tugs the edges of Emet-Selch's mouth upwards as he dips to lick at Lahabrea's stomach. 

<<Best get you cleaned for the next round.>>

Limp, spent,  _ sated _ in body and soul, Lahabrea cannot muster the energy to so much as twitch at the intimate caress of aether carrying his cohort's words. He finds himself quite happy to lie immobile whilst Emet-Selch's tongue makes short work of the release painting his stomach. Laving up each drop with care, Emet-Selch presses a kiss to each cleaned patch of skin before moving on. By the time his task is complete, Lahabrea's chest heaves, panting, blood drumming with freshly kindled  _ hunger _ . Shifting, cock stiffening with embarrassing swiftness, the Speaker swallows as he realizes the truth of Emet-Selch's words. 

'The next round'. 

The assertion of  _ more _ . 

Lahabrea whets his suddenly parched lips. 

"How many--" He rasps, voice hoarse from misuse. Swallowing, he forges ahead. "How much more must needs pass?"

Pausing in nosing along the trail of hair leading to Lahabrea's navel, Emet-Selch looks up. Incredulity lends his voice a mocking air. 

"Why the next full day, if not an entire sennight I would wager. Vessels with mixed parentage may be subject to extremes of their heritage's traits. But you know this, dear Speaker. Or do you wish me to spell it out for you?" 

Silence hangs heavy between them. Drawing himself up the bed to lay beside the Speaker, Emet-Selch tilts his peer's face towards him. Uncalloused hands cup Lahabrea's chin gently, firmly, trapping his gaze with no escape. The Speaker's continued silence serves to prompt his cohort, mirth dancing in his aurum eyes. 

"Esteemed Lahabrea. Your vessel is going to prove  _ insatiable _ in its appetite for the foreseeable future. I do hope you are prepared to be spread and ridden in turn until its needs are met-filled with my contributions and adorned with its own." 

Something cool picks its way across Lahabrea's abdomen. With his chin in Emet-Selch's vice-like grip, denied the ability to look, he can only tremble as it reaches his arousal. His eyes flutter shut at its touch, restraint over his reactions long since shredded by the heat flaring at his core. 

"Ghh-kk--" 

Rolling over his sensitive flesh, blunt tendrils coax his cock to aching stiffness. Emet-Selch leans in for an impassioned kiss, devouring the Speaker's helpless moans. Caught between the smooth flex of the tentacles below and his cohort's persuasive lips, Lahabrea feels his  _ need _ kindle as though that first coupling had never been. Grasping back, he claws at Emet-Selch, desperate to have him anew. 

<<If only you were always so honest...>>

Emet-Selch kisses a path along his jaw, lavishing attention on the soft hollow behind the Speaker's ear. Feathery hair brushes along Lahabrea's cheek as his cohort moves to tease the uncurved shell of his ear, Emet-Selch's scent of fresh turned loam suffusing his senses. Greed pounds in his veins, the illustrious Speaker finding himself quite unable to lift free from the mire of mortal desire. He groans compliance, rolling his hips under the aetherial limb's ministrations. 

"Just so, my dear Speaker." 

Biting back a whine -  _ the Speaker _ does not  _ whine - _ Lahabrea bucks into the tentacles' hold. They massage him to aching fullness, teasing at the line of spend at his rear, threatening to fill him as those at the fore work him to completion. A blunted tendril sinks past the tight ring of muscle at his rear, probing past a fingers length to flick and curl just so - the sensation dazzling Lahabrea's eyes with a flash of vision-blotting bliss. He chokes back a sob, the expression of carnal delight catching in his throat. Emet-Selch smiles to hear it, his hand tracing idle patterns across Lahabrea's chest while his shadowy tentacles rouse him to another peak. 

Shuddering, Lahabrea comes, spilling over aetheric coils. Emet-Selch hums a pleased note beside him, tendrils massaging the Speaker's cock until he pants for quarter - for relief from the damnably thorough handling pushing him into sharp overstimulation. Words fail him, resorting to weakly grasping at Emet-Selch's wandering hand with a whimper. 

" _ Very well _ ," Emet-Selch sighs, the tendrils fading into violet aether. Pulling the lightly protesting Speaker into a full body hug, he tucks Lahabrea's vessel under his chin, chuckling at how swiftly the Speaker relents and relaxes. "How can I deny you when you beg so prettily?" 

With the warmth in his gut simmering rather than at full broil, Lahabrea turns in Emet-Selch's grasp until he can meet those aurum eyes. 

"You truly mean to stay and tend me throughout this mortal inconvenience." 

"Your powers of deduction are an inspiration, Lahabrea.  _ Yes _ , I will stay and see you through this. Have I not said as much?" 

Honesty radiates off Emet-Selch, palpable despite his mocking delivery. Lahabrea squints at those golden eyes sparkling with mirth, no dark flicker in sight that this is a joke at his expense - not that the man can help himself from  _ teasing _ , but the lack of malice makes it easier to bear. Huffing, he settles back into his cohort's hold. It would be the pinnacle of foolishness to deny him and the relief he offers. With a grimace, Lahabrea notes the encroaching warmth already seeping back into his bones, mouth salivating at his cohort's autumnal scent tinged by the sweat from their exertions. 

"...You had best be able to deliver on that, Emet-Selch." 

Indulging in the pleasant haze rising to fog his mind, and for assuredly no other reason, Lahabrea cranes up to catch Emet-Selch's indignant reply with his lips. 

Bells pass before the Speaker attains a restful sleep, Emet-Selch patiently coaxing his vessel through crest after heat-fueled cresting - the fire at his core finally banked, until the rising sun kindles it anew. Between Emet-Selch's Unsundered aether and willing form, he keeps Lahabrea sated, waving off the staff who come at meals in favor of feeding the Speaker himself. 

It takes a full sennight until the heat at his core is extinguished. 

Many vessels and Rejoinings later, word reaches him in Eorzea as he labors to bring about the Seventh Calamity. Word of his erstwhile ally, who once tended him through seven insatiable suns. 

The knock at the noble's bedroom door is swift, curt, and unexpected. Muffled cursing comes from the room, followed by an alarming thump, but he keeps himself still - unwilling to intrude uninvited. The door creaks open, revealing an aurum eye not unlike one the Speaker gazed into all those years ago. Visibly sweating, forelock of white hair plastered to his third eye, Emet-Selch stares in genuine surprise at his guest. 

"Chalice reported you were indisposed. I am here to assist, if you will have me." 

Emet-Selch blinks, a deep flush marring the appearance of House Galvus' heir. His eyes blow wide, golden ring eclipsed, as Lahabrea's words register. The Speaker fidgets under his cohort's intense regard, averting his gaze down the tapestry lined hall and politely ignores the bountiful scent of autumn filling his nose. 

"...If you are disinclined, I shall remove myself--" 

A broad hand seizes his forearm, snapping his attention back to the man behind the door. Smirking, Emet-Selch beckons him inside. 

"By all means, dear Speaker, join me within. Though, I hope you came prepared. Garleans rut for--" 

"A full sennight, I am aware." 

Lahabrea cuts him off. Pushing his way inside the room, the scent of unassuaged arousal smacks him to stillness. 

"You have not claimed a partner...?" 

The door closes behind them, its heavy lock clicking loudly into place. 

"And why would I settle for anyone less than whole?" 

Golden eyes glint in the low light, and Lahabrea swallows at the tremble they inspire. A long-suppressed warmth licks at the back of his mind, roused by that familiar scent. Head back and shoulders stiff, he faces his colleague.  ~~ Eager ~~ . Ready to reciprocate at last.

"Well then, shall we begin?"

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly chipping away at my wip pile! Hope you enjoy my answer to the question of 'do Ascians experience their vessel's heats?' - my answer emphatically being _yes_ xD (in addition to - give heat cycles to whoever you want, it's all fun to consider :D )
> 
> Thanks as always to the [Bookclub discord](https://discord.gg/PvbG45u) for their infectious enthusiasm <3  
> If you're interested in chatting with FFXIV fic readers and writers alike, feel free to click the discord link and join in!


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